Fic! By me! Yes, me, really. No, really, by me. Seriously.The Big Damn WIP is done! Not a P-90 (1/4)
A million years ago, I started a fic while sitting in a very long, very boring meeting. Then it became a giant beast and ate my brain. I've finally wrestled it into submission, so, here you go. I know you're not used to seeing fic from me, but just go with it. And if you like it, I might write more!
Title: Not a P-90 (1/4)
Author: girly_curl_3
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 11,000 total
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: None
Warning: Don’t take any wooden nickels.
Summary: This wasn’t even the same goddamn galaxy as Earth. They might only be a ‘gate away, but it was still light-years.
Disclaimer: Please enter standard useless boilerplate disclaimer of all intent to damage here. i.e., not mine, not for profit.
Notes: Betassistance by mckays_girl and hullfire. Also looked at in infancy by lamardeuse. Many and sundry thanks to you all; you are fabulous. Any remaining crappiness is all mine, baby. Also, this is my first-ever slash and my second-ever fic (the first was HP het!) so, please, read with kindness. Of course, feedback and concrit are adored. And finally, this fic is dedicated with love to
mckays_girl -thank you for all your support! *smooches*
Not a P-90
“Look out!” John yelled as he dive-tackled Rodney to the ground. They rolled to safety behind the DHD as whatever it was the natives were hurling at them peppered the ground with small explosions. Rodney lay inelegantly on his back, tablet still clutched under one arm, with Sheppard sprawled half across him. He could feel the colonel’s eyes on his face, so he focused his own on the sky over Sheppard’s left shoulder. They heard the familiar twang of Ronon’s weapon discharging a few more times and then the…whatevers…stopped exploding around them.
“Ronon? Teyla?” John called into the silence, still looking down at Rodney.
“Fine,” came Ronon’s deep reply mixed with Teyla’s melodic “Colonel, we are fine. And you?”
“Good. Get to the gate,” John answered, still unmoving atop Rodney, pressed against him in ways that did not bear thinking on until later.
Rodney, breathing shallowly, tried not to squirm under him as he cleared his throat. “Colonel,” he said, eyes still on the sky, “while I appreciate you saving my neck for once, would you mind getting up? Your gun is poking me.” He begged silently that Sheppard would think it was Rodney’s own P-90 poking him back.
~~~
“Hey.” John trotted up next to Rodney as he made his way out of the debriefing.
“Hi.”
“We practicing later?” John tried not to sound too hopeful.
“Oh, uh, I’ve got to…” Rodney flapped his hand, searching for an excuse.
“Rodney, your weapon won’t do you any good if you can’t hit anything with it.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Just one more way for me to save the city. My excellent aim.”
“Rodney-”
“Don’t worry, Colonel. I’ll be there.” He sighed and ducked into the lab, already simultaneously dreading and anticipating spending the afternoon with Sheppard. Ever since P36-949 a few months ago, when it had fallen to Rodney’s weapon and not his wits for once to save them, Sheppard had insisted on Rodney becoming more intimate with it at least three times a week. Unfortunately, it also meant becoming more intimate with Sheppard, who seemed to think nothing of wrapping himself around Rodney in pursuit of perfect aim.
Rodney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation. Days he practiced shooting with the colonel were deliciously torturous. He never got much work done because he spent most of the time thinking about Sheppard pressed close behind him, arms aligned, chin on his shoulder, voice in his ear saying, “Deep breath, Rodney…now, squeeze.”
That first time, he’d been distracted by Sheppard’s proximity, and, unprepared for the recoil, had stumbled backwards, nearly toppling them both. “Oops. That’s not gonna work. Gotta widen your stance,” Sheppard had smirked. Putting his hands on Rodney’s waist, he’d kicked his feet apart, then nudged the inside of Rodney’s legs with one knee until he was satisfied. Rodney’d nearly choked and couldn’t decide if he should feel violated or not, but Sheppard had just wrapped himself around Rodney again and started over.
It was ridiculous. Rodney spent every session with a hard-on and a headache, wondering if learning how to shoot a gun really required this much manhandling. Apparently it did, because every time it was the same, including his post-target-practice jerk off the second he returned to his quarters. There was never anybody else around, so he had nothing to compare his own lessons with. One time he’d asked Sheppard why they never had company.
“All my Marines already know how to aim. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want anyone to find out there’s something you’re not brilliant at.”
“Hm. Well. Not for long,” he’d harrumphed. But even though Rodney’s aim progressively improved, Sheppard insisted on continuing their practice sessions, saying that if Rodney didn’t keep it up, his aim would just regress. And truthfully, despite the substantial sexual frustration, Rodney didn’t really mind Sheppard closely invading his personal space three times a week.
Rodney looked at his watch. He’d be early, but it was pointless to sit in the lab any longer. He grabbed a PowerBar and headed for that afternoon’s agony, wondering when Sheppard was going to notice that he could handle a weapon just fine in the field, but his form went to shit every time they got on the range.
~~~
John was waiting for McKay, distractedly cleaning his weapon. He was early, but he was always early to meet Rodney. He enjoyed helping him with the shooting. He liked helping a member of his team improve his skills and become an even more valuable asset to the group.
But he also liked being alone with Rodney. And he really liked getting to drape himself all over Rodney in the name of improvement. He liked seeing the intensity on Rodney’s face as he concentrated, and wondered what it would be like to have all that concentration directed at him instead. He liked watching Rodney putting that big brain to work, devoting all his attention to whatever is was he was focused on. He loved the way Rodney’s broad shoulders felt against his chest, the way the muscles of his back and ass bunched and released as he set himself in the correct stance. He liked the way Rodney smelled, at the nape of his neck, behind his ear, under his jaw. He loved the convenient excuse to touch Rodney and breathe him in, but what he wanted was not to have an excuse anymore.
John thought about lying stretched out across Rodney that morning, feeling Rodney chest to chest, knowing Rodney could feel John hard against him and watching Rodney squirm, unable to meet his eyes. He remembered the moment he realized that it wasn’t Rodney’s P-90 poking him back. John Sheppard was nothing if not a man of action. He began to formulate a plan.
~~~
As he walked along Atlantis’ corridors munching his hasty lunch, Rodney thought about their close call on PX3-757 that morning. The minute his brain stopped thinking they were all going to die, it had started thinking about Sheppard laid out on top of him and all the adrenaline coursing through his body had headed straight to his dick. He’d felt Sheppard looking at him and firmly resolved not to meet his eyes, hoping that by ignoring his arousal, the colonel wouldn’t notice either. But Sheppard had just lain there on top of him, looking down at him and Rodney’s dick had gotten harder with each passing second. Finally, Ronon had dispatched the natives and they’d made their escape.
Rodney had spent the entire debriefing hiding an erection, desperately wishing to escape to his lab so he could distract himself with the mysteries of Ancient tech. Instead, he’d agreed to meet Sheppard later and spent the rest of the day half hard. And now, on his way to meet the source of his sweet suffering, the arousal that had somewhat subsided was coming back full force. He stuffed the PowerBar wrapper in his pocket and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, taking deep, cleansing breaths through his nose as he walked through the door. Sheppard was already there.
“You’re early, Rodney. Miss me?” he said, looking up from the disassembled weapon in front of him and giving Rodney the patented John Sheppard half-smirk.
Momentarily disarmed, Rodney swallowed and took another deep breath, smelling gun oil and Sheppard. “Hm. Yes. Well, after our little adventure this morning, I’m reminded that brawn is sometimes needed along with brains,” he replied, giving Sheppard the patented Rodney McKay sneer. “Now gimme the gun.”
“It’s a weapon, Rodney,” Sheppard sighed.
“It shoots things; it’s a gun,” Rodney huffed.
John rolled his eyes. “You’re on my team, McKay, you act like a good little soldier and call it a weapon.”
“I’m a scientist, not one of your soldier boys, Sheppard. Now, are we gonna shoot things, or what?” Rodney snorted.
“Oh, yes, Dr. McKay. We are. And I hope you don’t have anywhere to be, because I think it’s time the good doctor learned some soldiering,” John said, eyebrow arching. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Rodney that the scientists weren’t the only ones holding down the fort. And it most certainly wouldn’t hurt to see his favorite doctor get a little sweaty.
~~~
An hour and a half later, Rodney had learned to shoot while running, diving, rolling and lying on his back. And John had learned how to hold a P-90 so it covered his hard-on, because the only thing better than watching Rodney flap his hands and think was watching Rodney sweat. His shirt was soaked from the exertion of jumping up and down and rolling around like an action hero. And for once, he seemed relaxed.
Rodney flopped back to the ground, spread-eagled. “That’s it. I’m done. You broke me. And I’m hungry,” he panted. Truly, it wasn’t as awful as he’d thought it would be. Sheppard was a sadistic bastard, making him run around like this when he knew perfectly well that Rodney’s brand of science involved more sitting and less rolling. But he was beat and soaked with sweat and inexplicably aroused. He wanted nothing more than to hightail it to his quarters so he could shower and jerk off, in that order.
John laughed and flopped down beside Rodney. “All right, all right. We’ll take a break.” He leaned over Rodney to take the P-90 from his lax grip. As he did, Rodney got a whiff of sweaty colonel and squinched his eyes shut to keep from groaning. Maybe he’d shower second.
~~~
“And how’s my little soldier boy this morning?” John smirked the next day as Rodney’s door slid open and he stepped into the corridor. They headed off to the mess hall.
“Mmph,” Rodney grunted. “Coffee.”
They sat down for breakfast with Ronon and Teyla. One cup of coffee and half a powdered omelet later, Rodney felt human again. He hadn’t slept well last night. The combination of adrenaline overload from the morning’s excitement combined with the other kind of excitement brought on by his afternoon with John had kept him awake. He’d lain in bed for hours trying not to jerk off again, but thoughts of Sheppard pressed close against him had thwarted his resolve. He consoled himself with the thought that lots of people probably masturbated to help them sleep. In fact, half of Atlantis was probably getting off every night to visions of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. It didn’t mean anything.
“So,” John said brightly once Teyla and Ronon had excused themselves. “Day off today. Wanna go to the mainland with me and check out those ruins Halling found? I heard there’s some Ancient stuff.” John flashed Rodney his most winning smile.
“The team?” Rodney asked.
“Nah. This is unofficial. Just us.”
Rodney closed his eyes in exasperation. His dick was making its “yes” vote known. “I really should…” he waved his right hand and adjusted the napkin on his lap with the left.
Rodney really did have things he could be doing in the lab, but the idea of a day alone with Sheppard was incredibly tempting. Not to mention possible Ancient stuff and the fact that they’d be outside, but not actively chased, shot at, held hostage or forced to do science for beings of inferior intellect.
“C’mon, it’ll be good for you to get out of the lab and go someplace where they aren’t trying to kill us or raid your brain. I’ll bring lunch,” John cajoled.
Rodney attempted to swallow past his dry mouth. Alone with Sheppard. Alone alone. With Sheppard and his stupid rakish hair and confident charming smile and those mischievous twinkly eyes that spelled doom for Rodney’s resolve. That ridiculous aura of capability and command and other soldierly stereotypes he carried or shucked off as he saw fit and either way turned Rodney’s insides out.
Oh god, and that horrible provocative smell of guns, weapons, mixed with the scent of sweat and Sheppard that would forever remind Rodney of pleasant afternoons wrapped up in the colonel’s arms, even if it was only for target practice.
It was all a ridiculous cliché not worthy of Rodney’s super-genius, but nonetheless true for this particular Lieutenant Colonel. There was just no possible way Rodney could survive an entire day alone being assaulted by that arsenal with no means of relieving himself when it got to be too much. He doubted Sheppard would let him alone in the woods long enough to rub one out.
He absolutely shouldn’t go. Not if he didn’t want Sheppard to catch him with a constant hard-on like a teenager and fuck up everything good he had going. This close…camaraderie, friendship, whatever it was, had to be enough.
Should he go? Hell no. Did he want to go? Oh, yes. But he didn’t want to seem too easy.
“Lunch?” he asked.
“I’ll even bring extra pudding. And I promise to touch anything you want me to.” Sheppard gave him his Kirk smile again and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Rodney nearly choked on the dregs of his coffee. “You’re on.”
He got the twinkly eyes of doom in response. “Cool.”
On to Part 2
Title: Not a P-90 (1/4)
Author: girly_curl_3
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~ 11,000 total
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: None
Warning: Don’t take any wooden nickels.
Summary: This wasn’t even the same goddamn galaxy as Earth. They might only be a ‘gate away, but it was still light-years.
Disclaimer: Please enter standard useless boilerplate disclaimer of all intent to damage here. i.e., not mine, not for profit.
Notes: Betassistance by mckays_girl and hullfire. Also looked at in infancy by lamardeuse. Many and sundry thanks to you all; you are fabulous. Any remaining crappiness is all mine, baby. Also, this is my first-ever slash and my second-ever fic (the first was HP het!) so, please, read with kindness. Of course, feedback and concrit are adored. And finally, this fic is dedicated with love to
mckays_girl -thank you for all your support! *smooches*
Not a P-90
“Look out!” John yelled as he dive-tackled Rodney to the ground. They rolled to safety behind the DHD as whatever it was the natives were hurling at them peppered the ground with small explosions. Rodney lay inelegantly on his back, tablet still clutched under one arm, with Sheppard sprawled half across him. He could feel the colonel’s eyes on his face, so he focused his own on the sky over Sheppard’s left shoulder. They heard the familiar twang of Ronon’s weapon discharging a few more times and then the…whatevers…stopped exploding around them.
“Ronon? Teyla?” John called into the silence, still looking down at Rodney.
“Fine,” came Ronon’s deep reply mixed with Teyla’s melodic “Colonel, we are fine. And you?”
“Good. Get to the gate,” John answered, still unmoving atop Rodney, pressed against him in ways that did not bear thinking on until later.
Rodney, breathing shallowly, tried not to squirm under him as he cleared his throat. “Colonel,” he said, eyes still on the sky, “while I appreciate you saving my neck for once, would you mind getting up? Your gun is poking me.” He begged silently that Sheppard would think it was Rodney’s own P-90 poking him back.
~~~
“Hey.” John trotted up next to Rodney as he made his way out of the debriefing.
“Hi.”
“We practicing later?” John tried not to sound too hopeful.
“Oh, uh, I’ve got to…” Rodney flapped his hand, searching for an excuse.
“Rodney, your weapon won’t do you any good if you can’t hit anything with it.”
“Yes, yes. I know. Just one more way for me to save the city. My excellent aim.”
“Rodney-”
“Don’t worry, Colonel. I’ll be there.” He sighed and ducked into the lab, already simultaneously dreading and anticipating spending the afternoon with Sheppard. Ever since P36-949 a few months ago, when it had fallen to Rodney’s weapon and not his wits for once to save them, Sheppard had insisted on Rodney becoming more intimate with it at least three times a week. Unfortunately, it also meant becoming more intimate with Sheppard, who seemed to think nothing of wrapping himself around Rodney in pursuit of perfect aim.
Rodney closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in resignation. Days he practiced shooting with the colonel were deliciously torturous. He never got much work done because he spent most of the time thinking about Sheppard pressed close behind him, arms aligned, chin on his shoulder, voice in his ear saying, “Deep breath, Rodney…now, squeeze.”
That first time, he’d been distracted by Sheppard’s proximity, and, unprepared for the recoil, had stumbled backwards, nearly toppling them both. “Oops. That’s not gonna work. Gotta widen your stance,” Sheppard had smirked. Putting his hands on Rodney’s waist, he’d kicked his feet apart, then nudged the inside of Rodney’s legs with one knee until he was satisfied. Rodney’d nearly choked and couldn’t decide if he should feel violated or not, but Sheppard had just wrapped himself around Rodney again and started over.
It was ridiculous. Rodney spent every session with a hard-on and a headache, wondering if learning how to shoot a gun really required this much manhandling. Apparently it did, because every time it was the same, including his post-target-practice jerk off the second he returned to his quarters. There was never anybody else around, so he had nothing to compare his own lessons with. One time he’d asked Sheppard why they never had company.
“All my Marines already know how to aim. Besides, I didn’t think you’d want anyone to find out there’s something you’re not brilliant at.”
“Hm. Well. Not for long,” he’d harrumphed. But even though Rodney’s aim progressively improved, Sheppard insisted on continuing their practice sessions, saying that if Rodney didn’t keep it up, his aim would just regress. And truthfully, despite the substantial sexual frustration, Rodney didn’t really mind Sheppard closely invading his personal space three times a week.
Rodney looked at his watch. He’d be early, but it was pointless to sit in the lab any longer. He grabbed a PowerBar and headed for that afternoon’s agony, wondering when Sheppard was going to notice that he could handle a weapon just fine in the field, but his form went to shit every time they got on the range.
~~~
John was waiting for McKay, distractedly cleaning his weapon. He was early, but he was always early to meet Rodney. He enjoyed helping him with the shooting. He liked helping a member of his team improve his skills and become an even more valuable asset to the group.
But he also liked being alone with Rodney. And he really liked getting to drape himself all over Rodney in the name of improvement. He liked seeing the intensity on Rodney’s face as he concentrated, and wondered what it would be like to have all that concentration directed at him instead. He liked watching Rodney putting that big brain to work, devoting all his attention to whatever is was he was focused on. He loved the way Rodney’s broad shoulders felt against his chest, the way the muscles of his back and ass bunched and released as he set himself in the correct stance. He liked the way Rodney smelled, at the nape of his neck, behind his ear, under his jaw. He loved the convenient excuse to touch Rodney and breathe him in, but what he wanted was not to have an excuse anymore.
John thought about lying stretched out across Rodney that morning, feeling Rodney chest to chest, knowing Rodney could feel John hard against him and watching Rodney squirm, unable to meet his eyes. He remembered the moment he realized that it wasn’t Rodney’s P-90 poking him back. John Sheppard was nothing if not a man of action. He began to formulate a plan.
~~~
As he walked along Atlantis’ corridors munching his hasty lunch, Rodney thought about their close call on PX3-757 that morning. The minute his brain stopped thinking they were all going to die, it had started thinking about Sheppard laid out on top of him and all the adrenaline coursing through his body had headed straight to his dick. He’d felt Sheppard looking at him and firmly resolved not to meet his eyes, hoping that by ignoring his arousal, the colonel wouldn’t notice either. But Sheppard had just lain there on top of him, looking down at him and Rodney’s dick had gotten harder with each passing second. Finally, Ronon had dispatched the natives and they’d made their escape.
Rodney had spent the entire debriefing hiding an erection, desperately wishing to escape to his lab so he could distract himself with the mysteries of Ancient tech. Instead, he’d agreed to meet Sheppard later and spent the rest of the day half hard. And now, on his way to meet the source of his sweet suffering, the arousal that had somewhat subsided was coming back full force. He stuffed the PowerBar wrapper in his pocket and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, taking deep, cleansing breaths through his nose as he walked through the door. Sheppard was already there.
“You’re early, Rodney. Miss me?” he said, looking up from the disassembled weapon in front of him and giving Rodney the patented John Sheppard half-smirk.
Momentarily disarmed, Rodney swallowed and took another deep breath, smelling gun oil and Sheppard. “Hm. Yes. Well, after our little adventure this morning, I’m reminded that brawn is sometimes needed along with brains,” he replied, giving Sheppard the patented Rodney McKay sneer. “Now gimme the gun.”
“It’s a weapon, Rodney,” Sheppard sighed.
“It shoots things; it’s a gun,” Rodney huffed.
John rolled his eyes. “You’re on my team, McKay, you act like a good little soldier and call it a weapon.”
“I’m a scientist, not one of your soldier boys, Sheppard. Now, are we gonna shoot things, or what?” Rodney snorted.
“Oh, yes, Dr. McKay. We are. And I hope you don’t have anywhere to be, because I think it’s time the good doctor learned some soldiering,” John said, eyebrow arching. It wouldn’t hurt to remind Rodney that the scientists weren’t the only ones holding down the fort. And it most certainly wouldn’t hurt to see his favorite doctor get a little sweaty.
~~~
An hour and a half later, Rodney had learned to shoot while running, diving, rolling and lying on his back. And John had learned how to hold a P-90 so it covered his hard-on, because the only thing better than watching Rodney flap his hands and think was watching Rodney sweat. His shirt was soaked from the exertion of jumping up and down and rolling around like an action hero. And for once, he seemed relaxed.
Rodney flopped back to the ground, spread-eagled. “That’s it. I’m done. You broke me. And I’m hungry,” he panted. Truly, it wasn’t as awful as he’d thought it would be. Sheppard was a sadistic bastard, making him run around like this when he knew perfectly well that Rodney’s brand of science involved more sitting and less rolling. But he was beat and soaked with sweat and inexplicably aroused. He wanted nothing more than to hightail it to his quarters so he could shower and jerk off, in that order.
John laughed and flopped down beside Rodney. “All right, all right. We’ll take a break.” He leaned over Rodney to take the P-90 from his lax grip. As he did, Rodney got a whiff of sweaty colonel and squinched his eyes shut to keep from groaning. Maybe he’d shower second.
~~~
“And how’s my little soldier boy this morning?” John smirked the next day as Rodney’s door slid open and he stepped into the corridor. They headed off to the mess hall.
“Mmph,” Rodney grunted. “Coffee.”
They sat down for breakfast with Ronon and Teyla. One cup of coffee and half a powdered omelet later, Rodney felt human again. He hadn’t slept well last night. The combination of adrenaline overload from the morning’s excitement combined with the other kind of excitement brought on by his afternoon with John had kept him awake. He’d lain in bed for hours trying not to jerk off again, but thoughts of Sheppard pressed close against him had thwarted his resolve. He consoled himself with the thought that lots of people probably masturbated to help them sleep. In fact, half of Atlantis was probably getting off every night to visions of Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. It didn’t mean anything.
“So,” John said brightly once Teyla and Ronon had excused themselves. “Day off today. Wanna go to the mainland with me and check out those ruins Halling found? I heard there’s some Ancient stuff.” John flashed Rodney his most winning smile.
“The team?” Rodney asked.
“Nah. This is unofficial. Just us.”
Rodney closed his eyes in exasperation. His dick was making its “yes” vote known. “I really should…” he waved his right hand and adjusted the napkin on his lap with the left.
Rodney really did have things he could be doing in the lab, but the idea of a day alone with Sheppard was incredibly tempting. Not to mention possible Ancient stuff and the fact that they’d be outside, but not actively chased, shot at, held hostage or forced to do science for beings of inferior intellect.
“C’mon, it’ll be good for you to get out of the lab and go someplace where they aren’t trying to kill us or raid your brain. I’ll bring lunch,” John cajoled.
Rodney attempted to swallow past his dry mouth. Alone with Sheppard. Alone alone. With Sheppard and his stupid rakish hair and confident charming smile and those mischievous twinkly eyes that spelled doom for Rodney’s resolve. That ridiculous aura of capability and command and other soldierly stereotypes he carried or shucked off as he saw fit and either way turned Rodney’s insides out.
Oh god, and that horrible provocative smell of guns, weapons, mixed with the scent of sweat and Sheppard that would forever remind Rodney of pleasant afternoons wrapped up in the colonel’s arms, even if it was only for target practice.
It was all a ridiculous cliché not worthy of Rodney’s super-genius, but nonetheless true for this particular Lieutenant Colonel. There was just no possible way Rodney could survive an entire day alone being assaulted by that arsenal with no means of relieving himself when it got to be too much. He doubted Sheppard would let him alone in the woods long enough to rub one out.
He absolutely shouldn’t go. Not if he didn’t want Sheppard to catch him with a constant hard-on like a teenager and fuck up everything good he had going. This close…camaraderie, friendship, whatever it was, had to be enough.
Should he go? Hell no. Did he want to go? Oh, yes. But he didn’t want to seem too easy.
“Lunch?” he asked.
“I’ll even bring extra pudding. And I promise to touch anything you want me to.” Sheppard gave him his Kirk smile again and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Rodney nearly choked on the dregs of his coffee. “You’re on.”
He got the twinkly eyes of doom in response. “Cool.”
On to Part 2